


The Ocean's Secrets

by Xiss_in_the_corpse_mansion



Category: MORRIGAN (Japan Band)
Genre: Fantasy, M/M, Mermaids, POV Male Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-08-15
Packaged: 2019-06-26 09:54:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15660840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xiss_in_the_corpse_mansion/pseuds/Xiss_in_the_corpse_mansion
Summary: A teacher of Aryu and Setsuna dies suddenly from a mysterious disease. Even though it's a private funeral, Aryu and Setsuna check it out secretly anyway. They witness a strange ritual at the cemetary, that involves their Math teacher. Not much later Setsuna sees his neighbor eating jellyfish at the beach. Meanwhile, a lot of people in their environment get sick suddenly, including Aryu's father.Aryu and Setsuna don't trust it and go to explore. One night they follow their Math teacher and find a trail. A trail that leads them far into the deep, towards a huge danger...





	1. Dream

Sometimes I dream that I'm walking on the beach. I'm completely alone. I walk along the water barefoot and follow the trails of people that have walked there before. By following their steps in the sand, I feel exactly how they moved. It's a game. I do it a lot when I'm on the beach. Then I walk in the trails of a big man like a giant, until I come across a new trail and continue in a different pace. For instance, with the tracks of a toddler I suddenly take small steps and if I see the prints of someone in heels, I walk on my toes. It probably looks weird when people see me like this. 

In my dream I play this game too, but then my eye suddenly catches some strange trails. I kneel to look at them. They're the same size as my own feet, but there's only three toes. Between every toe is about 5 cm space, where the sand is pressed as if there was a piece of wrinkled fabric. A swimming flipper? 

While I'm there on my knees confused, I follow the trail with my eyes. After 20 m it stops already. There's a boy standing there like a statue in the empty landscape. He's looking straight at me. He looks soaking wet, like he just came out of the sea. His feet are bare, for the rest his body is coated in shimmering seaweed. I feel the tension in his gaze. It makes me nervous. My heart starts pounding. Slowly I rise. But the boy is startled by my movement, because he turns around and runs away towards the dunes. I start to chase him. By the dune he climbs up on all fours. I copy his example. I try my best to keep up with him, but my pace slows down more and more. My legs grow tired from the loose sand. This kid is much faster than I am. He's already on top of the dune, when I look up halfway. After that he disappears out of sight. Panthing I reach the top. From here I see the dune landscape and the city. But I don't see the boy anymore. He disappeared without a trace. 


	2. Traces

Mr. Hayashi died just before Christmas, He had been sick a long time, but nobody knew exactly what sickness he had. There were whispers are about some rare yeast infection that took his life. Anyway, he had some skin infection on his face and hands, that had gotten less and less pretty to look at as the schoolyear passed. Really unpleasant to look at. To be honest I wasn't at all upset at the thought of never having to go to Mr. Hayashi's classes. Not because of the ugly skin, but Mr. Hayashi was a terribly serious man who never made any jokes. He had a very stern face and his chemical experiments were often so complicated, everyone got confused. Sometimes someone added the wrong component and something exploded. Mr. Hayashi had no understanding for that. That person had to come back after school and they would be sitting there with Hayashi for a whole hour, in utter silence, making homework. Those hours were horrible. "Will you guys be doing anything special with the class to say goodbye?" my father asked as he was cooking. I shrugged. "Just wait until Monday, I suppose your class rep will talk with you about it." Dad slipped a beef slice into the pan. My mother, who had been visiting grandpa, closed the front door. A cold draft flew through the kitchen. "It smells great in here!" she called out, "can we eat yet?" She took off her coat and kissed dad. I could just barely dodge her kissing mouth. Later at the table, she said: "I ran into Mr. Takashima from your school, Aryu. He told me they already have a replacement for Mr. Hayashi. Your chemistry classes simply continue after the vacation." "It's not called chemistry," I reacted irritatedly. "It's called science. That's with natural science added." "I'm very happy with the school, that they have a replacement so soon," my dad said enthousiastically. "And grandpa asked if you're gonna visit him tomorrow," mom mentioned. "Does that  _have_ to be tomorrow? I'll go on Friday."

"You can visit him sometimes. You didn't come along on Christmas either." 

"But Setsuna and I are going to the beach tomorrow, I don't know if I'll even have time to visit then."

"Are you and Setsuna going to the beach again tomorrow?" my father asked, "what are you even doing on the beach in the middle of the winter?"

"Just walking."

"Oh? Nice. It's going well between you and Setsuna, isn't it?"

"What do you mean?! We're just friends, you know. That's it." I felt the blood rising to my cheeks. 

"I didn't say anything else, did I?" My father took a bite and looked at me with a sly grin. With his mouth full he claimed: "Very romantic, walking on the beach together." I shot him a glare. 

 

The next morning I made sandwiches for myself and turned the TV on to a music channel. My parents had to work between Christmas and New Year's Eve, which I liked. Finally had the house to myself. Lounging on the couch with my feet on the table I flipped through the newspaper. "Fabricator of whale oil sells business with millions profit," a headline read. But I wasn't interested in that. I flipped the page to the death ads and read: 

 

_On December 24th, to our great sorrow, passed away, at 43 years of age, our friend:_

**_Takashi Hayashi_ **

_Maemi Aohana_

_Tsukuru Tazaki_

_Shinji Terachi_

_Taoki & Tomi Shironi and children_

_Family Hayashi_

 

_The funeral will be privately held on Saturday December 29th, at 11AM at cemetary Kuroame._

 

 Here it was, in black and white. Mr. Hayashi had really died. Now I suddenly felt a little guilty. I never really had any nice thoughts about Mr. Hayashi. And even after his death I mostly thought about his horrible detention hours. 

I heard the front door close. Setsuna came in panthing. He was dressed warmly with a black scarf. His cheeks were red from the cold. When he had taken off his winter outfit he ran his hand through his dyed blond hair and said he could go for Ramune. 

"Did you read it?" I asked, as I held up the newspaper. 

Setsuna blew on his hands to warm them. 

"Yeah, I found that ad so weird."

"Why?"

"The names under it. On top is Maemi Aohana."

I poured us Ramune. 

"What's weird about that?"

"That's our Math teacher and her name is in the ad of the Hayashi family. That's so weird!" 

"Oh," I said stupidly, I never noticed that. 

"I never noticed those two were so close, did you?" Setsuna asked as he sat down on the couch. "Of the Hayashi family nobody is mentioned by name. And it says 'our friend' instead of 'our father', 'our grandpa', or 'my husband'. The other death ads don't have that."

I opened the newspaper again and looked at the ad. It seemed a bit bland, that I had to admit, but otherwise it seemed like a totally normal message. That's so Setsuna, to see a conspiracy in it. He'd love to be a detective later in life, or a journalist. 

"Maybe they couldn't reach his family so soon because they live far away," I thought aloud, "and they don't know their names."

Setsuna took a sip of his Ramune. 

"Yeah yeah," he said. "You don't actually believe that, do you. I'd like to go to his funeral." 

"We can't," I said, "It says: ' _The funeral will be held privately_ '."

"So?" Setsuna looked at me surprised. "We don't have to stand at the grave. I just wanna see his family for a second."

"You're very curious."

Now he was offended. I could see that. He took a deep breath and said: "Well Aryu,  _ **you**_ had to stay in detention the other day because you mixed bleach with aceton... because you so badly wanted to see what was going to happen. Talk about curiousity! While Hayashi had told you not to do that because of the dangers! Besides, he's my teacher! Then I'm at least allowed to go to his funeral, right?! Isn't it very weird if I'm not allowed to go to his funeral?! It's normal that, as a student, you want to properly say goodbye to your dying teacher! Properly saying goodbye is also very important for your mournings process!" He folded his arms and looked at me defiantly. I shrugged my shoulders. 

"Fine," I said, "then go to that funeral." I really didn't feel like worrying about something like that. 

"Are you coming with me?" 

"I'm really not going to stand too close to that grave, though. It's really rude to nudge yourself into a private funeral. That's really a no-go."

"Okay," he said, and with that the decision was made. 


	3. Checkers

The door of the nursing home where grandpa lived was only to be opened with a 6-digit code. That was needed because most of the residents weren't allowed to just go outside; most of them were not able to find the way home. I knew the code. I could just walk in. From the main hall I walked to grandpa's floor. Grandpa was sitting at a table in the common room. 

"Hey, shall we play a game, grandpa?" I asked. 

On the old face a happy smile appeared. 

"Hey boy," he said. "Play checkers?" Grandpa loved checkers. I went to get the old checkers game with hand carved details, that grandpa kept in his nightstand next to his bed. Grandpa's bedroom was neatly cleaned, his bed had smooth sheets. Above that, on the wall, there was a small painting of a pilot in an old-fashioned army uniform. Grandpa had painted it himself in the old days. When he moved to the nursing home that painting was the only thing he definitely wanted to bring along. The sailor in the painting has a proud look on his face and he holds a big Japanese flag close to him. His name was under it: Murakami Akira. In the old days when I was little and grandpa still lived in the house by the coast, he often told stories about this pilot. According to grandpa it was his great-grandfather, who during the war with America flew a big airplane. Grandpa could tell wonderful stories. Halway his story he took the painting off the wall and showed it to me enthousiastically. 

I took the checkers game from the nightstand and walked back to the common room with it. Grandpa had gotten a cup of tea in the meantime and was telling something to someone at the table next to him. Carefully I put the boardgame down on the table. 

"Oh? Are we gonna play checkers?" grandpa asked surprised. 

"Yes, would you like that?"

"Of course!" He took the box of checkers pieces and flipped it. Carefully his shaky fingers started putting the black ones in their places. I prepared the white ones.

"White begins, black wins," grandpa said solid. 

I shoved my first piece forward.

"Grandpa, do you remember the story about pilot Akira?"

Grandpa looked up from the board in fear. His eyes widened and he bent far over the table, as he whispered: "Make sure they don't get you, boy!" 

Immediately afterwards he sat up straight, looked around scared and moved a piece. I was stunned. 

"Your turn," grandpa said.

"What did you say?" 

"Your turn."

"No, before that."

"Before that?" grandpa asked.

"Yeah."

Grandpa's wrinkled face twisted as he looked at me. Briefly a deep frown appeared on his forehead, as if he was trying his best to remember something. Then he shrugged and said: "I don't remember." He focussed back on the game. 

We continued playing in silence for a while. 

"Do you remember what happened to pilot Akira after his plane crashed?" I asked. 

Grandpa moved a piece. 

"Yes, he ended up in Nemuri. With the maris." 

I hit three of grandpa's pieces. 

"Well I'll be..." 

"What did they eat again, grandpa?" 

The old man pulled a nasty face. "Jellyfish!" he mumbled. 

I waited for a bit until he was going to tell the story. Mostly grandpa didn't need a lot of encouragement. But now he bent forward and hurriedly whispered: "Watch out for them, boy, because they're up to no good!" 

I had trouble keeping up with grandpa lately. He was starting to forget more and more things and was often confused. But I had never seen him this restless. It was quite unsettling to me. I wanted to hear that trusted story from him so badly to make things cozy between us. But apparently grandpa couldn't remember it the old way anymore. 

Grandpa hit back. Two pieces. 

"You won't get me this easily grandpa, I'm gonna win. You have a whole hole in your defences!" 

Grandpa didn't protest. He looked around himself in fear. 

"Maybe they can get in here as well," he said nervously, "maybe they know the code. Do you know the code?"

"The door code? Yes." 

"You can't tell anyone. Keep it secret!" 

"Yes grandpa." 

"Whale oil!" grandpa said. 

"What?" 

"They smear that on their skin, to protect themselves from the sun."

"Who?" 

"The maris." 

"But there is no sun in Nemuri?" I said surprised. 

Grandpa sat back and frowned his forehead. It was clearly taking him some time to sort his thoughts. 

"No no, there's no sun down there."

Luckily my mother came to pick me up at that moment. We left grandpa to the nurse. 

"You know grandpa is a little confused, I've explained that to you a thousand times," she said on the way home. 

"Yes mom, but grandpa has been saying really weird things now..."

My mother gave me a sad look. 

"You shouldn't blame him, Aryu. Grandpa is sick. If he behaves strange, it's because of his illness. He goes back to the old days more and more in his thoughts, and sometimes you don't follow him anymore. You should be happy you can still play a game with him now. I'm guessing even that won't be possible anymore soon, because he can't remember the rules anymore."

I kept my mouth shut. Mom didn't understand. I knew grandpa was sick, that wasn't at all what this was about. But I had no idea at the time what made him so scared. 


	4. The old Nemuri story

The old story of Murakami Akira has been told for generations in my family. My grandpa heard it from his father as a child, he says, and he told my father. And he passed it on to me. But dad always rushed through the story. Actually he thought it was nonsense. He couldn't tell the story the same great way my grandpa could. Grandpa always made it festive. When you'd come to visit him, he'd make mochi skewers first. Those were his favorite snacks. He'd add more sugar and made them bigger. 

"You don't get them this good at the street food places," he always claimed. With our skewers and a drink we'd sit at the table and grandpa would start telling the story:  

"When Akira turned 14 in 1829, his father told him to find work to provide for the family. He started in the harbor, where he worked on the docks as carrier of goods for the ships. Those were those big wooden ships with huge sails and wooden masts, with a crow's nest on top, where night and day sailors kept watch. They'd sail from everywhere, to England, to India or to America. And when ships returned, Akira was the first one to see what they brought with them. He'd carry fabrics, crates of tea, herbs and spices. 

The life of a harbor carrier was tough and Akira had to work long days, but he didn't mind. He thought his job was the most interesting thing ever. In the harbor he saw all kinds of things. Lots of exotic animals emerged from the ships. Parrots, turtles, preserved crocodile skin, just about anything. One day Akira even saw an elephant from India, that was brought to Japan to perform in the circus. The animal was escorted by six roburst, strong men. Those were sailors! At night they were strolling around in town, looking for alcohol and amusement. Akira was always there watching them. He always had a big admiration for those guys. How he longed to be a part of them. But more badly, he wanted to be a part of the uniformed army pilots, because they'd go out in big planes. 

The longer Akira worked on land, the more the world called out to him. And that's how it became that he was the first to apply, when he heard the army was hiring pilots. He got a training as a pilot and three months after his 15th birthday he flew out for the first time, westwards. He was accompanied by copilot Akamatsu, on a big bomber plane of the Japanese army. Akira's mother cried bitter tears at the thought her son was going to end up in a war, but his father was proud. For a month the family didn't hear a word from him. Then came messages that the plane was participating in the settlement of China. The emperor had sent them to China to conquer their land.

Well, a settlement like that didn't go unnoticed like nowadays. A plane like that made a lot of noise and would land on the first available piece of land, letting its air turbines turn off. Those were enormous like this!" Grandpa spread his arms as far as he could to emphasize the size of the turbines. "They could blow away a whole village. Those Chinese of course weren't happy with that! Those Chinese hated everything that came from Japan. They lured maliciously at the enemy plane and stayed in the area, awaiting new orders. Akira had nothing to do with those attacks, though. He was but a simple pilot. He helped with cooking dinner and kept the plane clean.

Then one night something horrible happened. In a dark february night, a heavy storm came." With his mouth open he copied the sound of the wind and the thunder. He waved his arms along with it. "And though the plane was flying low, it was no match for the storm. It was blown South by the wind and lost its course. The local villagers heard about it quickly. Within minutes the coasts were packed with angry Chinese to watch the plane crash.

Akira was busy at that moment working in the back of the plane, to keep it from breaking. At first he hadn't noticed anything of the storm. But soon enough his fellow soldiers were in panic because one of the plane engines had broken down. Copilot Akamatsu was behind the steering of the plane. He was overseeing all the other soldiers with their panic of the storm. He immediately saw the storm was too strong and that they weren't going to make it. Yet he wasn't going to let his comrades die! So he threw everyone their life vests. Above the storm he yelled at his comrades: "Take cover, I'm diving!"

But the men that heard it, had no time to take cover, because right away the plane got struck by lightning and exploded." Grandpa's eyes went big, he stood up from the chair and made the sound of the explosions. "A loud splash sounded throughout the harbor," he cried as he flopped back into the chair with his arms up, as if he himself was blown away by the explosion. "Lots of people died there, Akamatsu himself as well. But he did die a hero's death! In Japan everyone talked about him as a national hero." Grandpa wanted to take a sip of his drink, but noticed his cup was empty. He put it back on the table. 

"Mr and Mrs Murakami soon heard there were three survivors among the crew," he continued. "So at first they had high hopes Akira was still alive. But after a week they heard from the army that their son had died in the war. They were deeply upset. They mourned their son for the rest of their lives. They never knew Akira **_had_** survived the disaster. Because the crash ripped the plane apart. A part floated, another part broke and another was pushed under water with force. Akira didn't surface. He broke through the membrane, that kept the sea seperated from Nemuri. He ended up in a world no human could've suspected it existed," grandpa said as he stood. "Well, emperor Hirohito maybe. You want some tea too?" 

Grandpa told the old Nemuri story like it was a serious family-legend, but I thought he just made it up. Or maybe he didn't make it up, but his father, or his father's father. At least grandpa loved telling the story. He started to shine, moved around with his arms a lot and his cheeks turned red from excitement. He should've been a storyteller, I thought. There was nobody who could entertain us like he could, with his so-called family survival story. At least... that's what I thought until last year. When I found out there was a bit of truth in the old history. Mr Hayashi's funeral gave Setsuna and me the first clue. Had we known then what we know now, we wouldn't have just approached anything. I can't undo what happened. But I can tell our story to warn the outside world. In case the maris come back one day. 


End file.
